


The End

by Elucubrations



Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Badass!Matt, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 20:38:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4235814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elucubrations/pseuds/Elucubrations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the last of his comrades falls, Mello is the last man left standing, or so he believes. But is this really the end for him, or does a new beginning lie just around the corner?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which We Begin in the Middle of the End

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my page on fanfiction.net! https://www.fanfiction.net/~tiichan17

Mello kept his eyes on Naomi's back as he followed her through the deserted town, rifle held ready. There were signs that zombies had been here recently, and they didn't want to be taken by surprise.

In all honesty, the two almost certainly would have stayed in the safehouse that day if it wasn't for their dwindling food supplies, which, despite only having a couple of consumers, were getting frighteningly low. As such, Naomi and Mello had decided that it was time they replenished their stock – baking hot, zombie-filled Wednesday afternoon be damned.

So far, they hadn't seen hide nor drool of any of the shamblers, and were glad for it. Hot as they were, and fatigued from the long hike to the town, it was unlikely that they would have escaped with no injuries. And injuries in their living conditions were to be avoided at all costs, unless one had the luck or money to acquire antibiotics.

Naomi stopped, and Mello walked to stand next to her. They were in front of a fairly small house that looked as if it had once been occupied by a decently well-off family. A good stop for non-perishables, then.

Naomi glanced at Mello, who nodded. She took a step back, then delivered a powerful kick to the painted door. With a loud crack, the lock broke and the two hurried in, wary of any zombies that may have heard the sound.

Sure enough, in what must have been the former pantry the pair found tins of baked beans, spaghetti hoops and tuna, as well as plenty jars of peanut butter (good for energy) and boxes of individually packed cereal portions. Mello marvelled at the convenience and sheer abundance of the stuff; normally they were lucky to find anything other than canned foods in an abandoned house, and even those in shortage. This family had evidently stocked up at the beginning of the apocalypse.

_Smart people_ , Mello allowed as he filled his rucksack, silently thanking the empty heavens for leading them to this goldmine.

They checked the fridge as a token act on their way out, but as expected, there was nothing edible there anymore, apart from possibly a couple of wizened apples. Unfortunately, no water was to be found either. Elusive hydrogen oxide had suddenly become more valuable than gold when the reservoirs dried up, and Naomi and Mello were running low.

They were out of the house and walking back in the direction they had come from when they heard it. The tell-tale shuffling, dragging sound of a zombie gang.

Unlike in the movies, zombies did not moan and growl, which meant that they were inconveniently difficult to detect, unless one was constantly on their guard. Thankfully, Mello and Naomi were.

They whipped around, and sure enough, a group of zombies was just rounding the corner. It wasn't too big; seven or eight, maybe. But then Mello's ears picked up a noise from behind. Turning, he saw another group advancing upon them. This one was larger, with possibly ten members. He tapped Naomi's shoulder urgently. She looked over her shoulder and swore.

"We're surrounded," she spat, cocking her rifle and aiming it at a shambler that was getting just slightly too close. She pulled the trigger and the zombie fell to the ground, viscous blood oozing from the hole above its right eye.

Mello fired at the group coming from the other side. He hit his mark and promptly shot another. Agitated by the noise, the zombies were speeding up, advancing faster than they could shoot them down. Seconds later, they were upon them.

Mello rammed the butt of his rifle into the closest, fired at another, and then took the opportunity to finish off the one he'd sent to the ground. A quick check over his shoulder told him Naomi was doing much the same. Reassured of her and his back's safety, Mello refocused on taking out his group.

They felt like more when they were crowding in on him, somehow. Mello felt overwhelmed; both by the number of the things and their stench. It was reminiscent of rotting corpses, with a hint of chemical. Mello had come to associate the smell with hatred: hatred for the zombies, hatred for their pointless not-lives, hatred for the fools that had done this to them. He outed his hatred and rage through violence.

Smashing his gloved hand into the face of one assailant, he ducked a lunge from another, taking it down with a well-aimed kick to the solar plexus. Rifles were almost worse than useless at this close-range; he dropped his, unconcerned that it would be used against him (zombies didn't have the dexterity or the intelligence, not even to use it as a bludgeon), and set about crushing the skulls of as many zombies he could. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the only way to kill them: a headshot.

Normally, it would be quite difficult to abuse a person's head enough for it to cave in, but the zombies had softened bone, similar to an infant's – a side-effect of the transformation and subsequent decay, it had been theorised. Therefore, Mello was perfectly well-off with a stamp on the skull, or indeed with whacking them against a wall. It was hardly graceful fighting, but no one cared for aesthetics where they were anyway.

Any immediate danger vanquished, Mello checked on Naomi again, just in time to see two zombies about to tackle her from behind. He yelled out to her, and she rammed her fist into the closest's face just in time, while he dove for his gun, aimed and fired at the other, which was just about to sink its teeth into her shoulder.

He missed.

The bullet whizzed past the zombie and hit Naomi instead, sending a spray of blood from her arm.

_Fuck!_ Mello yelled inwardly, frozen in shock.

Naomi cried out and clutched at her shoulder, letting her guard down just long enough for the shambler to grab her and bite into her neck. She shrieked and belaboured it with her good arm, causing both it and her to fall to the pavement.

Coming to his senses, Mello raised his rifle again and shot. This time, the bullet sailed cleanly through the zombie's brain and it crumpled back down to the ground.

Turning to scan for any more attackers and seeing none, Mello ran over to his comrade, who was already looking pale from blood loss.

"Naomi!" he shouted, more frantic than he'd have liked to admit. The two were good friends, even more so after her fiancé Raye and the rest of their team had been changed – they had been the last ones for a while now.

His hands shaking slightly, Mello rummaged for the bandages in his pack and started tying up Naomi's fast-bleeding neck wound, though he knew it was pointless now.

"Don't bother," she voiced his thoughts with a rueful smile. "We both know it's useless."

Mello bit his lip, shaking his head. "No, I – I don't –"

"Mello," she whispered tenderly, ruffling his hair with her good hand, "you're going to have to be brave now." She had always seen him as the son she didn't dare to have in their broken world, and he in return had hesitantly begun to see her as something of a mother figure. Looking at her now, injured through Mello's own fault, felt akin to getting his heart ripped out of his chest piece by shattered piece.

Still smiling, she pressed the rifle he had dropped into his hand. "Shoot me. Please."

Mello stared at her, numb.

"Through the head," she continued. "And don't miss this time." Still poking fun at him, even in her last moments.

Mello shook his head desperately. He couldn't do this. He could never do this.

"Mello." She looked him in the eye, piercing through his walls as always. "Please. You know what's waiting for me if you don't, and I'd rather stay dead than the alternative. It would be comparatively painless too, you know that." Comparatively painless for her, possibly. "Come now, Mello, please. Let me take this one last chance to be with Raye again."

Mello shook his head again, this time in defeat, tears dripping slowly down his cheeks. He hadn't cried like this since the first time he'd seen one of his team-mates die.

"Fine," he murmured brokenly, his hands tightening on the gun, all shakes gone through sheer power of will.

"Thank you." Naomi beamed up at him. "And Mello...I'm sorry."

Mello snarled, partly in pain, partly in derision. "Idiot. I'm the one who should be sorry."

And then he shot her.

Mello fell to his knees beside his last friend and ally. He was alone now. The last one left alive.

* * *

Mello sat listlessly in his dingy bedroom in the safehouse. The trip back to base had gone without incident; everything ordinary apart from the fact that he had been carrying two packs, and had no one to chat with to while away the long walk.

He had enough food to last him for a good number of days now, but that wasn't his main concern. While they had been gone, a piece of falling debris (Mello suspected, anyway) had knocked the lid off the single barrel of water he had left. Some of it had evaporated, obviously, but more importantly, the water had been contaminated with dirt and dust and pathogens, making it necessary to throw it away. If he were to have drunk it, he'd probably have been worse off than if he had let himself die of thirst.

He could have boiled it, but it would have taken hours that he couldn't spare, and would have resulted in even more evaporation. He would have had to filter it all too, to get rid of the solid muck.

Sighing, Mello had concluded that he may as well dump the water. He would have to find some more quickly though; the only amount he had left was in his half-empty water bottle in his pack.

_Not good_ , Mello thought morosely, though he couldn't draw himself far enough out of apathy to be overly concerned. _I'd never have had to face this problem if the world hadn't gone to shit._

Mello had been born into a very middle-class family. Two parents with respectable jobs, a modest house in a nice area and of course the obligatory border collie. He had been happy, though he hadn't appreciated it enough at the time.

And then it had all gone haywire.

There had been a swine-flu epidemic; people dying all over the globe and the rest panicking like headless chickens. The governments had been rushed into making vaccines for the flu strain, and Mello supposed it was the rush that caused them to make their crucial mistake. However, by the time the unwanted side-effects of the jab had been realised, over half of the world's population had been zombified.

The vaccine induced a terrible illness, symptoms including a fever, lethargy and slow motor functions, along with severe abdominal pain. It would kill a person in a week maximum, and only a few hours after death, the corpse would get up and stumble around, shocking all onlookers into stillness until it sank its teeth into one.

That was how the disease was spread; the infusion of saliva into the blood. A couple of days after the initial bite, the victim would start showing the symptoms of the disease caused by the vaccine, and the whole thing would start again.

Naturally, at the beginning of the crisis, people had been far too busy blaming the governments of their various countries to work out a way to put the zombies permanently to rest. By the time they finally started to catch onto how to properly kill them, three quarters of the human population was gone, and the survivors were hopelessly outnumbered.

It was at about this point that Mello had been rescued by Naomi and Raye. His home had come under attack from a pack of zombies, and his parents had been mostly eaten alive. Fifteen-year-old Mello had panicked and barricaded himself in his bedroom. A good plan, he later realised, as his window had a view out onto the street through which Raye had first spotted him.

He and his fiancée had fought their way through to him and dragged him out through the window, resulting in nothing more than a sprained ankle, miraculously. After they had lost the zombies, Naomi gasped out between laboured breaths whether he'd like to join their team of survivors, seeing as he had nowhere else to go now. Mello had agreed eagerly.

The group was small, but friendly, and by the time Mello's ankle had healed completely, he already felt fully integrated into their community. There had been other groups that traded weapons, food and the like with them at the start, but one by one, these had been wiped out.

Their group had started dwindling too, meaning Mello had been forced to learn how to fight and run much earlier than anyone had planned. By the time he'd spent two months with the group, he was sent out on his first scouting mission, trying to find food and ammo.

In a horrible instance of bad luck, Mello and his partner, Linda, had been taken by surprise by a lone zombie. Inexperienced and panicky, the two were at a loss for what to do, and Linda had been bitten.

Mello'd had to smash her corpse's head in three months later.

Eventually, as group member after group member was changed or killed, it had just become him, Naomi and Raye, until Raye had fallen too.

Naomi had been distraught, and for two weeks, Mello had tried to deal with an empty shell rather than a human, as if she'd died along with her fiancé. Thankfully, she'd snapped out of it once she realised that he was slowly starving trying to keep her alive on their limited food stock, and had been the rock he'd always seen her as ever since.

It had been just them for a long, long while – or maybe it hadn't been so long. Mello couldn't remember. But now she was gone as well, and Mello knew that it was only a matter of time before he followed her.

He got up to tip the water barrel into the contaminated river. It was good for washing, that stream, but not much else.

Trudging back into the building and deciding he may as well go to sleep, Mello's last thought before he surrendered himself to unconsciousness was that he didn't know which he'd rather end up as: zombie chow, or a desiccated corpse.


	2. In Which the Beginnings of a Beginning are Discovered

Mello was on a raid. He didn't know why he was still calling it that when it wasn't so much of a raid anymore as a one-man march for hydration.

It was baking hot, and Mello wondered whether the glamour over his vision was heat haze or his brain finally starting to shrivel up on itself. His legs were getting heavier with every lurching step he took, until he inevitably stumbled. He managed to catch himself on a wall before he hit the dusty ground.

Somehow succeeding in heaving himself upright, Mello idly wondered whether someone would find him when he finally collapsed, before he remembered that there was no one else; not anymore. Naturally.

Such was his last thought before he felt a heavy impact on the back of his skull and his world erupted into a haze of multi-coloured, star-filled pain. He vaguely registered slamming into the pavement before he slid out of consciousness.

* * *

He woke up in a dark room, tied to a wooden chair with electric cables. Blinking, Mello wondered why he wasn't back at the base before he remembered what had happened on his pitiful attempt at a raid.

Concerned as to what kind of psychopath had tied him up (and bitterly cursing God for feeling the unnecessary urge to make the _only_ other human being in the country a maniac), Mello tried without success to slip out of the cables. They were well-tied, with almost a professional edge. Mello's concern heightened and he began to struggle.

He was surprised by a calm voice behind him. "I'd give up on that before I tired myself out, if I were you."

Mello strained against his bindings to see the owner of the voice, but he couldn't turn his neck quite far enough.

Gloved hands placed themselves on either side of his face, gently turning Mello to face the front before they settled on his shoulders. Looking at the gloves, Mello garnered as much information about his captor as was possible. The hands were large, but slender and light, the fingers long and dexterous; almost like a woman's, but the voice that had spoken was certainly male. He was unlikely to do manual labour if he wore gloves like that often, as the worn leather implied he did.

The voice had been that of a smoker's: slightly husky and rough. He probably wasn't up to much exercise then, either, Mello thought. Despite the damaged vocal chords, though, the voice was still evidently quite young; Mello would place him between fifteen and twenty.

"So," the voice continued, "who would you be, then? I thought I was pretty much alone in this world, but...doesn't seem like it after all." He like the sound of his own voice, Mello noted. Arrogant. "At first I thought you were some kind of pretty zombie chick, stumbling around out there, but turns out you were just dehydrated. Fixed that, by the way."

Mello noticed with a start that, indeed, he wasn't in danger of fainting anymore. It proved the guy had water to spare, which meant one of two things: either he was a hoarder, or there was a fresh water source nearby.

The voice went on, unperturbed by Mello's calculating silence. "Then I thought you were a spy or something, but who'd want to spy on us? Aliens would stay a good few lightyears away, if they knew what was good for them, and God and his angels sure ain't interested. Though fuck knows you look like one."

Mello was unimpressed at the flattery. So far, the man's temperament was highly infuriating, bordering on unbearable. Keeping his voice flat and uninterested, he said, "Well, I'd assess your appearance in kind, but for some reason I can't quite see your face." Sarcasm. Showed he wasn't intimidated. Good. "So I'll go with what I have. You're young, you voice says that much. You smoke too, though God knows where you get the cigarettes. You don't do much manual labour, or your hands would be sturdier. Going from the worn fingertips on your gloves, I'd say you spend a lot of time on a keyboard, consequently implying you don't go out much. You have to be clever and resourceful to have survived this long, and you're also smart enough to know how to properly tie up a person. And you have red hair." There was a strand stuck to his gloves.

The voice chuckled at the last one. "Pretty good," he praised, his voice almost-but-not-quite patronising. "You're smart, then. Shall I tell you what I've concluded about you?"

Mello frowned.

Undeterred by Mello's obvious wariness, he began. "I think you're alone in the world, no one else to help you survive. This is obviously a new thing, seeing as you flinched just now." Mello's scowl deepened and he wished his hands were free so he could punch this guy in the face.

The anonymous man may have picked up on his thoughts, as Mello heard him take a step back, keeping his hands on Mello's shoulders.

"You're a good fighter; the way you hold yourself and the callouses on your trigger finger tell me that much. You don't give a shit what other people think of you – well, not that there _are_ other people anymore, but still. The hair's pretty rebellious, and the leather, but the lack of tattoos and piercings means you don't conform with weirdos either. And you don't normally come to these parts, seeing as I haven't seen you around before."

"You could have just missed me," Mello retaliated immediately.

There was a rustling behind him, and a change in pressure of the grip on his shoulders. Then, Mello felt warm, tickling breath on his face, and chapped lips were just brushing his ear. Mello saw a tuft of red in his peripheral vision.

" _I don't miss anything_ ," the voice whispered.

Mello gave up. He didn't have the energy for this. "Fine, I've never been here before. I was looking for water."

"Go figure." The lips and breath were suddenly gone.

Mello shot a glare at the wall in front of him. "But I thought this place was abandoned," he said. _Like everywhere else_ , he added silently. "The survival group got wiped out. Are you a remnant of them?" He couldn't deny it: he was curious as to how this single guy had managed to outlive almost the entire planet.

"Nope." The smile was practically audible. "Been here pretty much since this whole mess started. That group was a decent bunch of people; I scratched their backs, they scratched mine, y'know?"

"Scratched?"

"I have surveillance cameras set up everywhere in a three-mile radius. I know when zombies are coming, I knew when you were coming. And they gave me food and water and shit for the intel."

"So how did the group get jumped, then, if they knew when zombies were gonna hit?" Mello narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"Hey, I'm not infallible, and even I have to sleep sometimes. One day I woke up and _poof_! No one. Well, apart from the bloodied corpses. I didn't let it happen on purpose, if that's what you're thinking."

Mello couldn't detect a lie in his voice, but he was still appalled. "And it doesn't bother you at all?"

"Not really," came the nonchalant reply. "In fact, it was quite convenient. The food stocks lasted me for quite a while, and I still have more weapons than I'll ever need."

"You cold-hearted bastard."

"That's me. Though I gave you water when you were about to croak – I'm not _that_ bad."

"Why _did_ you help me?" Mello demanded. "No offence, but I was kinda wishing for it to be over."

"That bad, huh? Well, sorry kiddo, but the world just ain't that kind." The voice suddenly became icy cold. "You and me, we're pretty much the last ones standing. You gotta go down with a fight, or don't you dare go down at all, you coward."

Mello realised rather belatedly the man was angry. He still antagonised him. "If you're so adamant about me staying alive, why truss me up like a turkey?"

A laugh: harsh and cynical. "I don't know anything about you, stranger. You could've been dangerous."

"Mello."

"Eh?"

"My name's Mello," Mello clarified softly.

"Well." The voice sounded mildly surprised. "That's charming and everything. I'm Matt." He finally walked into Mello's field of vision.

Mello looked up at his saviour-cum-captor – he wasn't sure which 'Matt' was, yet. He had dark red hair, like Mello had thought, and freckled skin that was so pale it was almost transparent. He wasn't very tall, around Mello's height, maybe, but he was long-legged and slender. He had very strange clothes: a long-sleeved (in this weather?), striped shirt and denim jeans, with what looked suspiciously like _goggles_ hanging loosely around his neck. His eyes were a startling chartreuse.

"So, what do you think?" Matt said with a mocking smile.

Mello blinked. "Huh?"

"I told you you looked...like an angel, I believe it was. Fancy returning a compliment? Being cooped up in here alone isn't always good for my self-esteem." Matt waved a hand airily.

"I don't think it's suffered too badly," Mello told him frankly. "And I believe you also said I looked like a "zombie chick", so..."

" _Pretty_ zombie chick."

"Like that changes anything. The only note-worthy thought that crossed my mind about your appearance is that I was right about you not going out much. You're as pale as a maggot," Mello said bluntly.

"Ouch." Matt didn't look too hurt. "Well, whatever. I guess if your mouth is working well enough for you to insult me that harshly, you're good to go."

"What?" Mello was lost.

Matt began to untie the cable. "You wanna stay trussed up here instead?" he asked rhetorically.

Mello thought back to the empty, nightmare-filled and water-less base. "...uh."

Matt rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. You obviously can't stand me –" he was right there and all, "– and I'd say the same for myself. Anyway, I like my space. I'll give you enough water to last you another few days while you keep looking. Might even lend you one of the trucks the group left behind so you can take back barrels," he offered.

"I can't drive," Mello mumbled.

"I'm sorry?" Matt appeared stunned, for once.

"I said I can't drive!" Mello snapped, irritably. "Naomi was going to teach me, but in the end...there just wasn't enough time." Melancholy seeped into his voice.

"Naomi?" Mello remained stubbornly silent. "Oh, whatever. Tell you what, I'll drive you back with as much water and food as the truck can carry. Your side of the bargain: you find a way to fucking provide for yourself and don't come bothering me again. I'm not your mom or whatever." Matt knelt down to undo the cables around Mello's ankles.

The blond regarded him with faint disbelief. "Don't you get lonely?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"No," Matt almost spat. "Being lonely's for the weak. So suck it up, sunshine, because you're gonna be alone from here on out."

Mello regarded him coldly, impatiently kicked off the loose cables around his ankles and stood up. "Fine. I'll walk back. No need to waste your precious water supplies on me, either."

Matt's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "Don't be soft! You'll die!"

"And maybe that wouldn't be so bad!" Mello nearly screamed. "You talk all big about going down with a fight, but I only see pain waiting for me! So fuck you and your fighting – I'm done! I was the last of my family, and then the last of my friends. And now I meet the only other person alive in this godforsaken country, and he's a complete _dick_! So fine, _be_ alone, if you never get lonely. Just don't fucking drag _me_ into it!"

Matt was stone-cold and silent as Mello stormed past him and out of the door.

It took Mello three hours to trudge back to his base, and when he finally got there he saw five barrels of water standing outside, sealed against contamination, as well as a large amount of non-perishable foods.

There was a note on one of the barrels:

_Figured this had to be your base seeing as it was the closest one in this direction for miles around._

_Just wanted you to know, your fancy words don't change anything. You keep yourself alive and never let me see your nauseatingly pretty face again._

Mello screamed in fury and frustration and threw the note away. He drank grudgingly (though greedily) from one of the barrels, then lugged all the supplies inside. No point in wasting it if it was there, right?

Afterwards, Mello curled up to go to sleep, exhausted, but the anger and loneliness kept him awake far into the early hours of dawn.


	3. In Which the End Comes to an End

When Matt's surveillance equipment started beeping at him to warn him of an incoming intruder, he half expected it to be Mello again, lonely or thirsty or hungry. Matt didn't quite know what he felt when he realised that no, it was just another bunch of zombies. Another very big bunch of zombies, but unremarkable all the same.

Sighing, Matt turned off all the lights to avoid attracting the bloody things and brooded over the blond. It was completely ridiculous that, in all the weeks since their explosive parting, Matt hadn't quite been able to get Mello out of his mind; the question he had posed to him most of all.

_Don't you get lonely?_

At the time, Matt had been utterly sure that no, he most certainly did not, thank you very much. He had always been alone; not much of a family, even before the whole disaster, no friends, and even contact with the group who had lived in the area before had been limited. But now he was finding himself more and more frequently feeling a sense of...emptiness. He wasn't doing anything as cringe-worthy as aching for company or whatever, but Mello was a striking individual, and he'd certainly left his impression on Matt's subconscious. That brief time talking (arguing, really) with the blond had somehow changed something in him, and now he wanted to do it again. Talk to someone.

It had been scary at first, and Matt had worked furiously through two nights to keep it all out of his head before he'd collapsed onto his keyboard and dreamt about angry faces and black leather and gunmetal blue eyes. Then, after two weeks of straight denial, Matt had been forced to admit it: in the mere half hour that he and Mello had talked, the insufferable brat had managed to change him so much he felt like a stranger.

He should have just left Mello where he found him.

He wondered if the supplies he'd given him were running out yet.

Rolling his eyes at himself (the kid could take care of himself, he couldn't be much younger than Matt), he checked the surveillance cameras to see what the zombies were doing and noted with brief surprise that they were heading west. Towards Mello's base.

Matt froze for a couple of seconds, but forced himself to relax.

 _The fuck's wrong with you, Jeevas?_ he demanded of himself. _The guy'll be fine. They might not even reach his hideout, and if they do, he'll know to lock down and stay low. He's not an idiot. He's survived this long without you, and he can do it for one more bloody day._

It really was a very big gang of shamblers, though.

Scoffing aloud at his laughable internal debate, Matt got up to fetch himself a drink of water, and possibly have a nap. Mello could go fuck himself.

He woke up from his snooze around two hours later, not feeling very refreshed at all. In fact, he was even more conflicted about the whole Mello vs. Zombies thing than ever; he vaguely remembered a disturbing dream about a zombie unicorn goring the blond through the stomach.

Wincing, Matt stood up and shook away the cobwebs of sleep still veiling his eyes. He checked the surveillance cameras one more time, stood fiddling with his goggles nervously for a second, then made his decision.

 _Fuck it_.

He grabbed his rifle, strapped his handgun to his leg and drove west.

Matt made sure to detour enough that he bypassed the group of zombies, though he could still see them on the hazy horizon. It took an extra twenty minutes, but Matt still got there before any danger.

He jumped out of the truck, slamming the door behind him. The sun was beating down on the back of his neck, and he was horribly aware of his pale, UV-sensitive skin. Thankfully, Mello, who had obviously heard the noise, opened the door to the base only a few seconds after the thought had crossed his mind.

"What the fuck are _you_ doing here?" Mello spat.

Matt ignored him, and shoved the blond aside to get into the blessed shade.

"Oi!" the blond protested. "What do you think you're doing? Get out!"

"There's a massive hoard of zombies coming, sweetheart," Matt told him evenly. "I'd say they're only a few miles away by now."

"And so?! I can handle myself, you prick!" Mello glared at him for a good five seconds before he bit his lip and asked, "Uh...how many, exactly?"

Matt shrugged. "Dunno. Twenty, maybe even thirty. I've never seen one so big."

"The fuck? Thirty?!" Mello seemed overwhelmed.

"Yeah," Matt affirmed. "I thought you'd be grateful for a helping hand, so –"

"Well, you were wrong. Get out."

Matt was astounded. "What?"

"You heard me. I'll batten down the hatches and stay hidden. Thanks for warning me and all; I guess you decided I might actually be worth some of your precious time. But I don't need your help. No offence, but you don't look like you'd be any good in a fight."

Matt narrowed his eyes. "I can shoot just fine, thanks very much. Returning the compliment, you're pretty fucking scrawny too. You'll need all the help you can get, trust me."

"Well, I don't want yours!" Mello yelled, flinging the door open and trying to shove Matt back outside.

Matt grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall, infuriated. He thrust his face into Mello's personal space, so the bridges of their noses were pressed against each other. Mello looked startled, and pushed at his chest in an attempt to get away, but Matt was adamant.

"Don't be a little bitch," he hissed. "In case you missed the memo, we. Are. The. Only. Ones. Left. We have to keep fighting, and if you want to throw away your life because you think it's none of my business, then you are fucking _wrong_ , mate." He spat out the consonants, and Mello flinched slightly. "Either accept my help fighting off the fucking zombies, or get in the truck and stay at mine until they're gone. God knows I hate you sometimes, but these days, I'm finding I need a verbal punching bag."

Mello blinked slowly, and Matt lost his bluster slightly in the icy pools that were suddenly the only things his own eyes agreed to see.

Mello's voice brought him out of his trance. "So you do get lonely." He didn't seem to be surprised at all, merely slightly smug.

Inexplicably angry again, Matt pressed the aggravating blond harder against the peeling plaster. The blond audibly gasped for air as his ribcage was crushed between Matt's and the wall, and Matt could feel the hot breath on his own lips.

"Why are you so determined to be a pain in my ass?" Matt demanded in mild desperation, confused as to how Mello had changed him so much and how obvious it had to be for the blond to figure it out. "I never asked for you to come to me; I was fine by myself! And then _you_ show up, and –" He broke off, suddenly forgetting what he had been going to say as Mello's eyes suddenly broke the electrical contact.

Humiliatingly slow in his anger, Matt realised there had been a noise from further inside the base. Breaking glass.

"Crap," Mello breathed, "I left the window open."

Matt blinked, nonplussed, before he remembered. "The zombies!"

He'd left his rifle in the van. Shit.

Pulling away from Mello, he slammed the front door shut just as a handful of shamblers rounded the corner of the base. Seconds later, he was straining to keep it closed as they battered at it, trying to force their way in.

"Key?" he gasped through gritted teeth.

In place of an answer, Mello reached up and bolted the door at the top, then at the bottom. "It won't hold forever," he said, "but it's enough to buy us time to get weapons."

"I have this," Matt drew his pistol. "It's fully loaded."

Mello nodded brusquely and led the way further into the base, grabbing a large piece of firewood as they passed the pile.

Neither of them were prepared for the sheer number of shamblers that were crawling through the window of what looked the rec room, tearing a decent-sized hole in the wall. There were at least ten inside now, with many more to come. Mello stepped back, startled, into Matt's chest. Matt shifted away, cocking his gun. A zombie stumbled forward, arms outstretched as if to strangle them, and Matt shot once. The bullets sailed clean through its skull, and it fell to the floor.

Unfortunately, Matt hadn't had the foresight to fit a silencer to his pistol, hence the zombies became agitated and resultantly faster. Mello had to club one on the head before it grabbed him, and as Matt shot down one shambler after another, he realised that not only was they number of zombies attacking them increasing rapidly, but they were being forced back. They were losing, being overwhelmed slowly but surely.

Mello seemed to realise this too. "Fuck, I need my gun," he snarled as he ducked the flailing arms of a shambler and sent it crashing to the floor.

Matt had no time to answer, as he felt a clammy hand brush his neck. Yelping, he leapt away, twisting to see that the zombies had broken down the front door and were now advancing from both sides.

"Shit," he cursed. He couldn't see a way out of this. "We're gonna die."

"No," Mello said, in the voice of someone who'd had their hopes crushed too many times to let it happen again. "If we can force our way down the corridor away from the door, that's the weapons and food supply room. The door's reinforced; we'll be safe there until we figure out a way to take all these bastards down."

Matt nodded and kicked an assailant's head in, stepping into the space it had occupied. It would take a huge amount of effort, but if they broke through, they would have a chance of survival.

Their unspoken battle plan was this: Matt would work on forcing their way through the crowd of blood-lusting zombies while Mello kept his back safe. Though he was only armed with a piece of wood, the blond was agile and intelligent. He made good use of his fists and feet as well as his weapon. Matt was confident they could escape.

Sure enough, they eventually broke through the crowd. "Come on!" Matt called, and the pair sprinted down the corridor with the zombies on their tails. Matt saw a door coming up on their left. It was metal, and he concluded that this must be the well-protected storage room. He wrenched the door open and rushed through, turning to let Mello pass. The blond was only a few metres behind him, and yet the tiny gap made all the difference.

Mello tripped, and Matt watched in horror as he slowed just long enough for a zombie to tackle him to the ground. He was frozen in shock as they struggled, until Mello's cry of pain wrenched him back into reality. Abandoning his chance at safety, Matt rushed to the blond's aid, throwing the zombie off him and shooting those that were approaching. Hastily, he gathered Mello into his arms and dragged him into the room, slamming the door behind him.

He didn't even give himself time to breathe as he fell to his knees at the blond's side, calling his name frantically. "Mello? Mello!"

He was conscious, but bleeding slightly from a wound on his arm. Matt's face crumbled as he realised Mello had almost certainly been bitten.

"Fuck!" he yelled. "Why now, just when we thought we were safe?!"

Mello groaned, clutching his arm. "Wait, I don't think it bit me. I cut my arm open when I fell onto the piece of wood."

Matt lifted the arm gently, examining the wound. Astonishingly, it appeared Mello was right. There were no tooth marks, and no traces of saliva around the injury.

"You're actually okay," he said incredulously. "But how?"

"No clue. Dumb luck, most probably." Mello groaned as he prodded his arm experimentally. "I think there's a splinter lodged in the gash. There're medical supplies behind the water butts."

Matt got up and found a first aid kit, complete with tweezers, antiseptic and bandages. Walking back to kneel at Mello's side again, he helped the blond sit upright.

"You want me to do it?" he asked, voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Mello sniffed. "Yeah."

"Please?" Matt teased. Mello only glared. Shrugging, Matt set to work.

Mello didn't make a sound throughout the entire process, and when Matt had finished bandaging, the blond traced the tight fabric covering his bicep.

"Thanks," he murmured softly.

Matt opened his mouth to say 'no problemo, gorgeous', but somehow the words got lodged in his throat. What was _wrong_ with him?

Mello looked at him speculatively. Then he asked, "Matt, how old are you?"

Matt was surprised that the blond wanted to know. "I thought you wanted as little to do with me as possible."

"Well, like you said, that doesn't seem like it's going to happen. I'm thinking maybe if I get to know you better I'll stop wanting to stab you in the face."

Matt snorted. "Fine thing to say to someone who just treated your injury. But whatever. I'm going on twenty-one."

"You look like it."

"Okay...?"

Mello shrugged. "I don't see the point in saying you look older or younger when you don't."

"Why say anything?"

"It's one of the compulsory aspects of conversation, I'm afraid."

Matt shook his head. Mello had gone from defenceless angel to sassy brat in zero point five seconds. "Right. Well, how old are you, then?"

"Nineteen."

"Cool. I guess." Matt was beginning to feel slightly awkward.

Mello didn't say anything, just fiddled with the bandages on his arm. He broke the silence a while later with an eloquent "Hey, um..."

Matt looked at him expectantly. Mello avoided his eyes.

"Did you really get lonely these past few weeks?"

"I don't remember saying anything to imply that," Matt replied, keeping his face neutral.

"We both know you did," Mello replied, equally evenly.

Matt swore. "Look, I don't know, alright? For all I can tell, you've psychologically disturbed me so much I don't know up from down. And I wasn't _lonely_ , I just..."

"Needed someone to talk to?" Mello supplied.

Matt glared at him ungratefully. "Oh, screw you and your mushy feelings shit. Think what you like, but make sure you think up a way to get out of here while you're at it."

Mello rolled his eyes. "Fine. I reckon we have a pretty long time before our supplies run out. We have enough food for two weeks at least, if we ration it, and water...probably about the same."

Matt looked at him in horror. "I am _not_ staying down here for two weeks," he said decidedly.

"Yeah, I know, it's a last resort, okay?" Mello retorted snappishly. "I'm working on it." He descended into a thoughtful silence.

Matt's fingers itched for a cigarette, or a keyboard, or _anything_ to distract him from Mello. How much more ridiculous could this get? Matt's brain told him that Mello was a soft, temperamental and high maintenance kid, albeit one with a stunning face, brilliant physique and intriguing mind. And yet, despite all the warnings in his head, Matt's heart had evidently decided it wanted to stick around Mello for as long as possible, as close as possible. He was relaxed and comfortable in the blond's presence, which was absurd; he'd only met him twice, and he knew next to nothing about him. Despite him probably being the only other human in the country, he couldn't afford to trust Mello too much. At least, that was what his brain said. And that brought it all right back to the beginning again.

Matt huffed loudly in frustration, and Mello looked up. "What is it?" he asked.

"Just frustrated at the idea of having to spend an extended period of time in close quarters with you, sunshine," Matt half-lied absent-mindedly.

Mello narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. "You hate me that much? What did I even do?"

Matt shrugged and subtly shifted away. His heart was beating much too fast.

Mello obviously noticed but didn't do much more than scowl. "Jesus. Look, I know we didn't exactly get off to a good start or whatever, but you just saved my life. So don't fuck with my head and pretend I mean nothing to you; all it's doing is pissing me off."

Matt didn't have a reply to that, so Mello continued. "You like to pretend you're all sarcasm and cynical pessimism, but really you're just as insecure as the rest of us mortals. I don't want you to break down crying and tell me your life story, but it'd be nice if you talked to me. Or even _looked_ at me!"

Matt did look at him, then, and saw in Mello's eyes, behind all the frustration, possibly maybe just a teensy bit of hurt.

He tilted his head to the side and asked, "Did I hurt your feelings?"

Mello huffed and turned slightly pink.

"Precious."

"Fuck you. If you want to be a dick, then fine. Go and get chewed on by zombies, or whatever you think would be preferable to being around me." Mello turned his back.

Matt sighed and pushed the blond's shoulder gently. "Hey, don't be like that. I'm just stressed, it's nothing to do with you."

"What are you stressed about?"

 _You_. Matt's mind betrayed him.

"It's me, isn't it?" And to make things worse, Mello was apparently a mind-reader. "Being around me brings out sides of you that you never even realised existed, and you have no idea how to deal with it and that scares you."

"...huh?" Matt was flummoxed. What? Was Mello actually a mind-reader? Or just really clever?

"It's obvious from how you keep opening up just a tiny bit around me and then slamming the doors shut when you realise what you're doing." Yes, Mello was definitely smarter than Matt had given him credit for.

"Well...yeah. Can't say you're wrong there."

Mello turned to look at him in surprise. "You're admitting it?"

"Seems like it, my dear Watson."

"I'd expected you to go on denying it for at least another couple of hours."

"Yeah, well, I know a lost cause when I see one. You're smart, kiddo, I'll give you that."

"Kiddo? I'm not even two years younger than you!" Mello looked offended.

Matt shrugged nonchalantly. "I guess it's just how I keep thinking of you. You're all trusting...well, in some aspects, and you're all open about your feelings and shit. Reminds me of a –" The end of Matt's sentence was cut off by a solid punch to the face.

Catching himself with his forearms before his head cracked into the concrete floor, Matt blinked at Mello in shock. The blond was seething, cradling his bad arm that he had just moved much too far, much too fast, and hurling curses at him like candy.

"Fuck you! Fuck you and your patronisation and your 'kiddo' shit and not _caring_ about anything! I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but to _me_ , you're the last person left on this godforsaken planet, you douchebag, and now I've found there _is_ someone else, you want me to go away and be just as lonely as I would've been if I _was_ the last man standing! You talk about loneliness like it's no big deal, but I've barely been alone in my entire life, and now it's _killing_ me!"

Tears were falling from his eyes now, and all Matt could do was stare in horror and think _No, no, I wasn't supposed to do this, not break him._ Because no matter how much he tried to pretend to himself that he really didn't care, like he hadn't cared about anyone else since this whole mess began, Mello was right. They were the last two people left in the world, and they were going to have to stick together unless they wanted to really die alone. And not only that, but Mello was...different. Matt connected with him more than he felt was healthy, or even humanly possible.

So Matt did the only thing he could think of when faced with an angel crying like a little toddler. "Hey, hey, I'm sorry, really I am," he stuttered frantically, scrambling up and reaching to touch Mello on the arm. His hand was slapped away like it was diseased. Determined to get through to the now reaching-hysterical young man, Matt wrapped his arms around Mello and held on through his struggles and swearing. "Please stop," he begged, "I hate seeing you like this."

"It's _your fault_!" Mello screamed, so loudly that Matt flinched.

"Yeah, I know, I know," he murmured, and finally, Mello began to calm down. Matt breathed a mental sigh of relief. He didn't think he could have born to see Mello like that much longer, so vulnerable and broken.

"I'm not a child," Mello muttered into Matt's chest.

Matt tightened his grip. "I know. I'm sorry. But I don't actually see you as lesser than me, you know. No, I'm being serious!" he declared when Mello looked up at him with red-rimmed, disbelieving eyes. "Really. It's just...I've seen more than most people of my age have. I'm probably mentally around forty. Being with you kind of shows me what I should be like, I guess. Except maybe not blond. I'd look daft," he chuckled in a weak attempt at humour.

For a split second, something flashed through Mello's eyes, and he looked so pained that Matt thought his wound must have torn further when Mello had punched him. Then Mello grabbed a fistful of red hair and kissed him, hard.

Their noses bumped painfully, but Matt's cry of protest was choked off with dry, chapped lips and a slick, hot tongue. Matt's eyes widened in astonishment, and he tried to break away, but Mello clung to him like a drowning man, pulling his hair so hard Matt was afraid he would rip it out.

Mello's eyes were glued shut as he forced Matt's jaw to move against his, sucking the breath out of him and entwining his tongue so absolutely with Matt's that the redhead could feel his stomach melting. He'd only kissed a handful of people before, and Mello tasted so _good_.

Finally snapping out of his shock, Matt took revenge and pulled hard on Mello's long hair, forcing his head back so he could bite his lower lip roughly. Mello gasped sharply, jerking against Matt's body.

Matt's lungs were burning for air, but he couldn't tear himself away from the sweet, desperate _ache_ that was Mello. He knew he should stop, because Mello was upset and emotionally vulnerable and Matt was taking advantage, but it felt so good to finally release all the tension he had accumulated from years of surviving the apocalypse on his own. He'd never even realised he could be attracted to men, but then again, maybe it was just Mello.

He left Mello's mouth and dragged his lips over his jaw, following the prominent line of bone until he reached a soft earlobe. He kissed it tenderly, almost reverently, before flicking his tongue out to taste Mello's skin.

"Ah!" Mello cried, hands falling from Matt's hair to grasp at his shirt, tugging his neckline down until a muted ripping noise was heard.

Matt sucked the soft flesh between his teeth and kneaded it gently, drawing a gasp from the blond. "Fuck...Matt," he groaned, dragging Matt abruptly out of his lust-filled trance.

He froze, then pulled back hastily, accidentally tugging out a couple of flaxen strands on his way. Mello cried out in pain, hands abandoning Matt's shirt to clutch at his scalp.

Matt backed away until there was a good metre of space between them. Mello made to follow him, but fell short at the sight of Matt's expression.

The redhead was horrified at himself. "Shit..." he mumbled. "What have I done?"

Mello looked at him, uncomprehending, for a few brief moments. Then he realised, and the look of betrayal and hurt that flashed across his face felt like a punch in the gut.

"I..." The blond swallowed thickly. "You're disgusted." The words sounded empty.

Matt wiped his lips on the back of his hand and looked away.

"But...I don't understand," Mello said flatly. "You – you kissed _back_ , how can you –"

Matt interrupted. "Mello, hang on, I'm not disgusted at you. It's _me_ I can't abide right now. Look at you, you're injured and upset and I'm just –"

"Taking advantage of me?"

Matt nodded mutely.

Mello crawled forward, and Matt leaned back nervously.

"Matt, I did that because I wanted to, not just because I'm hysterical and clingy. I didn't exactly _mean_ to, but now it's done I wouldn't take it back if you paid me. You irritate the shit out of me, but you were so nice then, I –" Mello's voice cracked. "I've never been in a relationship; never got the chance. But I know I want you. So much. You can just be...so beautiful." Mello's voice trailed off to barely above a whisper, as if he was ashamed.

Matt laughed, a high-pitched, short outburst. "Not fair!" he said, voice still a key too shrill.

"What?" Mello looked at him in concern.

Matt cleared his throat and said normally, "You beat me to it. You're beautiful too. Way, way more."

The tips of Mello's ears went red, and Matt hastened to add, "But I shouldn't do this, you're still not in your right mind, and –"

Mello shoved his tongue into his mouth to shut him up.

Matt put up a half-hearted struggle for about thirty seconds, but as soon as Mello breathed out a needy ' _please_!', Matt succumbed to the inevitability of his going to Hell.

 _Fuck it_ , he decided.

When he'd first met Mello, he certainly hadn't intended to do this, but now, with Mello's hands in his hair and tongue in his mouth, it just felt _right_. Like they were always meant to be the last ones, alone in the world together.

Matt had never believed in Fate, and still didn't now. If she really did exist, though, Matt had no clue whatsoever as to why people called her a bitch.

Ignoring the thumps of zombies against the locked and bolted door, Matt pulled Mello closer and realised that the unfamiliar feeling in his gut was happiness.

* * *

Later that evening, Mello choked on a piece of dried meat when a hellish cacophony sounded from the other side of the door.

"The fuck?!" Matt exclaimed, spitting out his mouthful of water. "Is that the zombies?" They sounded like they were screaming. He had never heard them make any noise before, apart from a particularly messy fight in which Matt had been forced to beat one senseless with a large-ish stone.

Mello took a couple of steps towards the door, then thought better of it. "What the hell are they doing?"

Matt shook his head in confusion and beckoned to the blond, ushering him back to the corner in which they'd been having supper. "Come on," he said when Mello sat down at his side. "It'll be safer to wait for them to stop and then check it out."

It took three quarters of an hour of horrid shrieking and killer headaches before the zombies, as Matt and Mello assumed it must be, quietened down, the racket gradually descending from ear-piercing wails to muffled groans to silence.

Matt and Mello waited in silence for a few tense minutes, straining to hear any noise beyond the door. When they heard nothing, they cautiously got up, picked up the rifles they had found earlier and edged towards the entryway.

While Matt waited with his rifle held ready, Mello unbolted the door, wincing at the echoing sound it made. At a shared nod, he wrenched it open. They jumped out, guns held to shoot any assailants.

Neither of them were prepared for what they saw.

"Eurgh!" Matt exclaimed in disgust. "What in the name of –?"

Mello poked at a suppurating lump of flesh with his weapon. "This looks like it was part of a rib cage, maybe," he said, wrinkling his nose but otherwise looking unbothered.

Matt eyed him in disbelief. "Nice going, DI Blondie. What happened? Did something take down the zombies?"

"Maybe," was Mello's noncommital answer. He knelt down next to most of an arm and examined the hand. "There's pieces of gore under the fingernails. Like they fought each other. Look for bite marks on the corpses, or any sign that they really did turn against themselves."

Matt did as he was told, and found tooth marks everywhere, as well as long scratches and gouges.

"That doesn't make any sense. Zombies don't eat each other, they look for humans to snack on. That's how it works." Even as he spoke, Matt was forming theories in his head. Maybe because they were the only humans left, and they were off the menu...

"They could have been overcome with bloodlust and attacked themselves, when we were out of reach," Mello finished his thought for him.

Matt nodded. "Well. That makes things easier. With any luck, the zombies'll wipe themselves out and we can repopulate the planet with nice, human children."

Mello looked at him in amusement. "Really? We're both male, Matt."

Matt tutted. "I know, I know. But we have no idea what's going on in other countries. There could be other survival groups in Quebec or wherever."

"We'll look into it when we get back," Mello told him.

"Back?"

"To yours. It's more habitable there, and there are more stores. Also, I don't suppose you'd fancy cleaning up this mess, would you?"

"Fair point. I'll load up the truck with all it can take, then, shall I? Or can you possibly lower yourself enough to help?" Matt poked fun at the blond, earning himself an exasperated scowl.

"Yeah, whatever, Queen Sarky. Get a shift on."

An hour later, they were driving away across the desert.

* * *

_6 months later_

"Hey, Mello!" Matt's voice was excited.

"What is it?" Mello poked his head into the room the redhead was sitting in. "I swear, if you're going to show me another 'fascinating' zombie munch fest..."

"No, no, we've been contacted by another group!"

"What?"

"Yeah, from Wales. They've been holing up in Cardiff, and most of the zombies there are gone too, apparently."

"So this world hunger for zombies thing isn't just in the states," Mello mused, walking up to wrap his arms around Matt's neck from behind.

"This lot have quite a bit of technology, too! And they're group's bigger than ours: five, they say."

"Five? It's amazing they managed to hold out."

"I know. But this is great news, it means the human race might not be extinct just yet. If there are other groups elsewhere..."

Mello smiled at Matt. "Yeah. This is great news. Really, really great. We've finally found some hope."

Matt pulled Mello down to kiss him. "You've always been my hope. But more's brilliant, yes."

Mello scoffed, pushing Matt away lightly. "You're so sappy when you're excited, it's sickening. Especially when I remember what a sarcastic grump you were before."

"Well, you're always so gruff, which is ridiculous, seeing as you look like a chick!"

"Say that again, bastard! Oi, don't run off!"

"Catch me if you can, Tinkerbell!"

"The fuck? Have you turned into a toddler? Quit scampering around!"

"You're scampering too!"

"No, I'm trying to put an end to this shit!"

"Oh yeah, sur– wah! Mello!"

"Got you, you twit."

"Kiss?"

"No. Oh, fine."

"Yay."


End file.
